


Reflection in G-Flat Major

by whatamidoingeven



Category: Kill la Kill
Genre: AU, F/F, domestic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatamidoingeven/pseuds/whatamidoingeven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the tick of the clock and the tick of the beat that remind Satsuki of what's important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection in G-Flat Major

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place years post-series.

The meeting’s agenda lists an end time of 16:00, so it comes as a pleasant surprise when activities conclude for the team at approximately 14:45. Something that makes the day for the rest of the corporate office becomes a mess for Kiryuin Satsuki, tasked with finding some sort of project to fill the time with.

The financials need wrapping up, someone needs to call H.R., had anyone completed that audit yet? She rifles through paperwork, tracking down the number of some numbskull in the accounting department who had yet to provide the details of the company’s long-term asset values. The usefulness of the number would need to be determined, as apparently a due date of last month was information that wasn’t translated when Satsuki called the office the first time, six months prior.

She taps the numbers into the dial pad when the phone rings. A phone call to or from Kiryuin Satsuki comes with a first-ring response and a clean, professional introduction.

“This is the office of Kiryuin Satsuki. Satsuki speaking. How can I help you?”

“Lord, take a breath and give it a rest.”

A slow slump of the shoulders and an exaggerated sigh get a chuckle from Ryuko on the other end of the line, a brief lapse in Satsuki’s façade before she can respond properly.

“Ryuko. What do you need? And I thought I’d told you not to call my office phone unless it was some sort of emergency.”

“I thought I said to give the formalities a rest? Jesus.”

A blank stare Ryuko swears she can hear is all the response she gets, and it’s effective.

“Mako just got home. She said you guys wrapped up work early for the day, but she didn’t see you leave. I knew you’d still be in your office. Hence why I’m calling you on your work phone. God knows you wouldn’t have responded to your cell phone until after midnight.”

A book would cover all the topics Satsuki would like to discuss with Ryuko in response to her last few sentences, but the combination of sterile white walls and the folders of information surrounding her keep her in a business-first mindset.

“What is your objective, Ryuko?”

“Go home.”

The slow, creaking noise that accompanies Satsuki leaning back in her chair- a noise which Ryuko is acquainted with from too many office visits- breaks the inevitable silence.

“Why?”

“When was the last time you saw Nonon?”

“This morning. We are engaged, you know.”

“I meant when was the last time you saw Nonon  _awake_?”

A clock makes it’s presence felt as it steals airtime from Satsuki’s voice. It counts the seconds from when  _calculating a response_  turns into  _I have no response_. Ryuko doesn’t miss it’s beat.

“That’s what I thought. Why don’t you pack up and call it a day?”

A calendar of upcoming appointments stares at her from the desktop. A stack of papers from the ‘In’ box accompanies her side. And that god damn clock, it’s ticking still filling the quiet of the office.

“Why do you suddenly care about my love life?”

A loud groan is picked up through the receiver, muffled by Ryuko on the other end of the line but not silenced.

“For fucks sake Sats, you’re getting married and it’s not to your job.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The shuffling of papers breaks the silence, interrupts some natural rhythm, as if Satsuki can find a valid response hidden within stacks of bills and project plans. Ryuko doesn’t try to interrupt, instead settles for the sounds of a woman looking for an excuse and finding nothing.

The shuffling ends about fifteen seconds after it starts, and is replaced by that familiar creak and a sigh.

"Fine. I’ll go home for the day. But I’m serious- don’t call me here unless it’s an emergency.  And don’t try to pull this kind of thing again.”

Cheering and laughter indicate that there’s been an audience throughout the call, and all Satsuki can do is shake her head and smile as she exchanges farewells with her sister and Mako before returning the phone to it’s station.

Scanning the walls, Satsuki is able to locate that pesky clock. 15:05. Leaving now means about a fifteen minute commute. She’d be spared from the end of the work day rush. It’s unfamiliarity is daunting; the conclusion of her usual work day contains, at most, late dinner traffic.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Staring at the clock does nothing but waste time. Satsuki gathers her papers neatly into their respective bins, tidying up her workplace before gathering her things and heading for the exit.

It’s a village of empty cubicles as she heads for the elevator, and as she calls for it, she looks over the space.

A collage of manilla folders, computers, phones, all professional and standardized, broken up by brief patches of color. Family photographs, artwork from children, cliché messages of encouragement, stark contrasts to the eternally passive hues of professional equipment and responsibility.

The ting of the elevator and the swoosh of it’s doors opening shakes Satsuki from her observations. She takes one look back at her office. It’s door is closed, but as she steps into the elevator, she swears she hears ticking.

—

Traffic is slow moving, as the definition of ‘post-work rush hour’ proves to encompass more than 16:00-17:00. It’s a rare occasion in which Satsuki is not utterly prepared. She turns on the radio if for no reason other than to keep herself from getting frustrated. 

She toggles between the presets, switching between talk radio, some light alternative music, before settling on a classical station. It’s the work of Nonon, a frequent borrower of Satsuki’s car. Their car.

A piece by Beethoven plays quietly as Satsuki corrects herself. A bottle of white-out has found it’s way into her purse and onto too many forms, switching names and relations. ‘Fiancée’ still seems foreign, in handwriting and on the tip of her tongue, and although the idea of it isn’t anything different from their prior relationship, the technicalities still trip Satuski up.

The thought and Satsuki’s trace are broken by the horn of another car. The ‘do-not-walk’ sign flashing next to her traffic light shows that it’s been green for a while, but Satsuki is able to catch it before it changes. The car behind her isn’t as lucky, and she hears about it as she pulls onto the avenue of her and Nonon’s shared apartment.

It’s a transition between run-down buildings and upper-end complexes that Satsuki passes through, the remnants of the makeshift caste system still evident here, still striking. If there were a pause in Satsuki Kiryuin’s life, she might have mulled over the implications of this, or the fact that it’s one of the few times she’s passed the divide in the daylight. But the combination of a CEO position and her pre-dawn, post-dusk departure and arrival schedule prevents breaks or notice.  

It’s not long after the turnoff that Satsuki arrives at the parking garage of the apartment, and it takes her longer to find a spot to park than she would like. Dodging other residents isn’t something she’s accustomed to, more familiar with having to be on guard. Questionable characters have a tendency to lurk here at night, and although Satsuki is hardly a vulnerable target, they never seem to learn that until they become crumpled heaps on the cement with zero of Satsuki’s valuables and even less of their own dignity.

When she finally locates a place to park, it’s four levels away from the entrance to the complex, and her journey becomes a hike. She passes by faces, some of whom greet her warmly. She replies in kind, but never with names. She’s lived here for over a year and a half, and first meetings-only meetings- have become distant, names even more so.  

She encounters this routine throughout the garage, and then through the complex itself until she finally reaches the door to apartment 528.

When she opens the door, the first noise she’s greeted with is ticking.

—

16:00 is rung in with the sounds of Nonon’s loud expletives, something not entirely unfamiliar. Nonon is a sailor around the other previous Elite Four members as well as Ryuko, when she sees her, but in Satuski’s presence she can be seen picking and choosing vocabulary. Hearing her loudly uncensored is a foreign greeting to Satsuki as she takes her first steps into their apartment, moving quietly.

The expletives are followed by seconds of silence, then the ruffling of paper. She’s in the living room, connected to the kitchen where Satsuki presently stands. Their apartment is certainly bigger than the average apartment for people their age, the benefit of not only being well off from birth but also from their current standing. Satsuki’s position as CEO of a mid-major company may bring about long hours but it also brings about a large paycheck, which allows Nonon a bit of freedom in pursuing music. Her schedule, which Satsuki sees on the refrigerator door as she moves toward the living room, is inconsistent- each day of the week marked with a different task, and each titled with either STUDIO or HOME in bold colors.

She always has the car when she leaves for work, so how Nonon transports herself to the studio without it is a mystery to Satsuki. Then again, Satsuki can’t say she’d be able to find the studio by herself- it could very well be within walking distance.

There has been events there, tours and artists visiting and even performances which Nonon has participated in, but they have always been scheduled on days of meetings, or when the accounting for the month is due, or when some other responsibility needs completing.

It’s not surprising, then, that Satsuki can readily summarize the details of the company’s latest merger but can’t even recall the first letter of a place where Nonon has spent days of her life.

She’s about to greet Nonon when the ticking starts again. It startles her for a moment, and before she can recover the sound of piano keys fills the space. A single note is what breaks the quiet, followed by a brief pause and a slow fluctuation between notes, low in octave.

Piano is usually heard from a stereo here, Nonon typically playing a brass instrument if any at all. Then again, by the time Satsuki usually returns at night, live music would prompt angry neighbors, if not a noise complaint.

The song Nonon plays gets heavier here but not faster, still fluctuating between notes, slow and deliberate. It’s familiar, but distant, like a promise made years in the past that is still being upheld.

It does eventually pick up, and it hits it’s whole range of highs and lows in a thirty second span before returning to the slow, melancholy pace it held previously. Satsuki hasn’t moved since it began, opting instead to stand in the doorway between kitchen and living room, watching Nonon play the piece.

A combination of focus and expectation keeps Nonon from noticing her there, and she’s a marvel to watch. Her hands move with practice but her eyes tell nerves, as though there were stakes on the line, a crowd.

Satsuki imagines what those hands feel like in hers, what those eyes look like when they first open in the morning. She imagines because numbers, tasks have taken the place of memories. She doesn’t need to look at a calendar to realize those memories are further away than their wedding is.

The song is brief, and ends optimistically, notes increasing in pitch before ending on a key far higher than the song began on. After the reverberations of the last note grow silent, the only sound that fills the air is ticking. It originates from a metronome located above Nonon, keeping beat for her music and everything that surrounds it.

It takes four beats for Satsuki to cross the room and five for her to embrace Nonon from behind.

She stiffens instantly.

“H-hey! Hey! What are you doing home so early?” The question wavers as Nonon asks it.

“We finished work early. And I decided to come home.”

“P-please tell me you didn’t hear that  _abomination_  of a performance.”

Nonon gets a sigh and a kiss on top of her head in response.

“It was lovely. I don’t get the chance to hear you play often.”

“Well, I mean, piano isn’t my strong suit. Hence why I was playing without an audience. Or, at least I thought I was.”

Satsuki gives an affirmative ‘hm’ while Nonon sinks into her, puts her hands on Satsuki’s arms as they lie around her shoulders. It’s comfortable, warm.

They stay like this, Satsuki resting her head on the girl who she still towers over, even after years of growth, until she stirs, returns to standing.

“Play it again, please. If you feel comfortable doing so.”

Nonon shifts, leans her head back so that she’s looking Satsuki in the eye.

“Sure. If you let go of me first.”

Her chuckles are quieted by a kiss as Satsuki unravels her arms from around her.

“I love you” she whispers, quietly, exclusively, as if there was someone, something else around that would steal those words.

“And I love you.”

In the silence that follows, Satsuki hears nothing.  

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a headcanon I had that Nonon likes to play instruments she's not particularly good at while Satsuki's at work.  
> The song Nonon is playing is "La fille aux cheveux de lin" or "The Girl With The Flaxen Hair", by Claude Debussy.


End file.
